The Best Friend Experiment (Oakwood College #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

AN INCONVENIENT BONER

SIX WEEKS EARLIER

There’s knowing your best friend is a woman, and then there’s seeing it.

Or…

Literally seeing them.

“Where did those come from?” I splutter, accidentally dumping my duffel bag onto the floor in surprise.

She jolts at the noise it makes and spins to face me, revealing—

Not only is Denver Parilla wearing a dress, but she also has tits and legs. The legs shouldn’t come as a surprise, aside from the fact that she lives in jeans. But the tits…

I think of her usual getup.

Hoodies. My jerseys. Tees. Everything oversized.

Blushing at my bewilderment, too embarrassed to notice what I said, she flips me the bird. “Don’t you dare bring up this dress, Zach Bradley.”

The dress?

She thinks it’s the dress I’m gawking at? Not what’s within it?

I mean, the dress is hot. Cute, even. A little black number that clings to every inch. But it’s her.

She’s wearing it.

The black velvet that dips in between those gorgeous tits. The strap thingies that accentuate her shoulders, those multiple bands of fabric constricting her movements in a way that shouldn’t make me think of that rope porn I’ve seen floating around, but it does.

Fuck, does it ever.

The material gathers around her hips, tight enough at her knees and thighs to make it hard to walk, before cutting off at the calf so she still has minimal freedom of movement.

She looks like all of my wet dreams come to life. Except, my wet dreams used to consist of Sports Illustrated models.

Clearly, my imagination is boring because why was I thinking about those chicks when she, this freakin’ G.O.D.D.E.S.S, is standing within touching distance?

Still, she’s uncomfortable with my gawking. At least, what she assumes is gawking. Not my eureka-shaped adulation, so I lift my hands in surrender. “I won’t say a word.”

And I won’t.

But look? Hell, I can’t. Not without making it creepy…

Peering at her from the corner of my eye, I plunk myself on the couch and as I do, I’m suddenly aware that things are pretty tight in the crotch area.

I grab one of those dumb throw pillows she insists we have everywhere and shove the stuffed Magic 8 Ball on my lap.

This is so fucked up.

I’ve been best friends with Denver since I was four years old.

It’s not my first erection around her—not my proudest moments—but it’s definitely the first she triggered.

When she bends over to adjust the strap of an insanely high heel, I swallow.

The bird’s eye view down the neckline has me glancing away when I just wanna savor what I’m seeing. Either that or press a kiss to the nook where her tits are squished together.

She did this thing to her hair—the hair she always wears in a ponytail—so it tumbles in gentle waves over her shoulders.

It’s dark brown. Not basic brown. But rich with a thousand shades of fall.

Sable, I guess. It highlights the faint golden tinge to her skin that comes from her dad’s side and makes the onyx velvet pop.

Her eyes are cast down. Not demurely. Denny’s never demure around her buddies. But because of what she’s doing. I notice she’s wearing makeup, yet the cosmetics only enhance her features.

That cute button nose.

The sharp cheekbones that lead to soft, pouty lips, which are always quick to smile and quicker to quirk into a smirk.

There’s gloss on them now. Powder on her cheeks. A little extra bronze.

How didn’t I know Denny was this beautiful? Was I an idiot—

Okay, scratch that. Yes, I’m an idiot. But holy hell, consider me awakened.

“Why are you dressing up?”

She scowls at me, but she’s so busy overcompensating that she doesn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Invite only night.”

While those are the dirtiest words in her language, my erection distracts me.

“Huh?”

She braces herself. “I got the invitation to pledge tonight. What do you think?”

I think she looks fuckable.

Bangable.

Eatable.

Everything-able.

But there’s no way in hell I can speak those words out loud.

“I thought you’d been sneaking around recently!”

She stacks her hands on her hips. Hips I want to grab. “I haven’t been sneaking.”

“Sure you have. I’ve hardly seen you this past week.” Yes, I’m pouting. “And you’ve barely shown up to practice!”

Denny yanks the neckline up then huffs when her tits remain there. “I had classes and you’ve been busy fucking anything in a skirt, as well as that competition in Latvia—”

“Latvia aside—not true.”

“Yes, true.” She sticks her hand on one hip this time and what that does to the lines of her dress should be illegal.

My truth spills from my lips: “You look great.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Stop it,” I admonish. “You shouldn’t.” How do I support her without making this weird? “It suits you. You look very pretty.”

She stops fidgeting with one of the straps. “I do?”

“I promise.”

“Thanks, Zach. Anyway, this is it. I find out tonight if I made it in or not.”

“Why are you trying again?” I grab the zebra-shaped cushion when the ball one isn’t big enough to cover her effect on me. “You’d prefer to eat sticks of fried shit than be in Pi Beta Epsilon.”

“Firstly, ew. Secondly, ewwww. Thirdly, what is with your shit obsession? Fourthly, Mom asked if I’d give it one final shot.” Her shoulders round, making the neckline sag and— “She was crying, Zach.”

Honestly, she and Mel have the strangest relationship. They both adore indie music and have gone to shows together for as long as I can remember.

Until today and the revelation she has breasts, Denny’s one girly thing was getting her nails done—a monthly mother-daughter tradition that she doesn’t keep up with as religiously now that they’re far apart.

Which, honestly, tells me it’s a bonding thing for Denny.

Then there’s how they both love hockey and devour junk reality TV.

But aside from those hobbies that unify them, they’re so opposite.

Mel’s Malibu Barbie. She primps and preens and flirts with anyone and anything. No one’s safe. She works out more than I do and her diet makes a ballerina’s look lax.

“You sure she was crying and not pulling your leg?” I nestle my head into a cushion and get tickled by one of the hairy throws she has over the back of the couch.

This is the kind of convo a man needs to be comfortable for.

“No! You know how important this shit is to her. I’m already a failure in her eyes because I’m a tomboy—”

“That’s harsh. She doesn’t think you’re a failure.”

She toys with an earring. “You didn’t see my grades last year.”

“So this is a distraction?”

Mel might be a blonde bombshell but she’s sharper than a tack.

“I figured dressing up for a night wouldn’t kill me.” Her eyes narrow. “It’ll kill you though if you mention to Pecan you saw me in a dress.”

Pecan, or Peeks, is our mutual best friend and roommate. Though he’s barely been around since he hooked up with Hailey last year, for the first time since I moved in, I’m not hating it because if both of us were drooling over Denver, I’d probably have to break his nose.

And jaw.

Then his dick.

“I won’t say anything to Pecan,” I tell her and mean it.

“You swear?”

My lips curve but before I can make a life vow that I won’t tell him anything, she’s yanking up her skirt, plopping onto my lap, then starts wrestling me!

My eyes bug out again as she does, all that gorgeousness wrapped up in silky velvet on top of me. Sliding over me. Her body caressing mine—

In less than thirty seconds, she has me pinned beneath her.

Hands over my head, hers locking my wrists in place.

I have never lost a tussle so easily, but the distraction was worth it.

Only the zebra pillow between us keeps her from feeling the full effects of this match.

I’m not sure if I’m sad about that or happy.

Until…

“You say anything and I’ll tell him about the time you and Denise—”

“Hold up! We agreed never to speak those words out loud.” I yelp.

Her smug smile deepens. “We have an agreement?”

“We do.”

When she shimmies on me to climb off my lap, I’m so close to blowing my load I’m panting.

She even shoots me a weird look. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” I gulp, take a few breaths, then get this conversation back on track before I lose my sanity. I’m lusting over my best friend here. What the actual fuck? “I still don’t think you should let Mel guilt trip you into this. Not when sororities are so not you.”

“Mom said it’d build character and I’d gain friends who’ll help me network in the future.”

“If she were talking about any other sorority, I’d agree. This is the one where women go to get married and become trophy wives.”

I’ve been in Poughkeepsie for two minutes and even I know that.

“Then get divorced before they’re forty,” she tacks on, nodding.

“That’s the weird thing though. Mom doesn’t want the same path for me.

An ex I loathe but have to share kids with and who I’ll push into Oakwood College because that’s our alma mater and he’ll keep on paying me child support that way. ”

“So…?”

Her lips purse. “You weren’t there last break. She was really pushing me. I just… The next time I’m home, if this’ll get her to chill, I’ll take it.”

Concerned, I sit up. “Denny, you don’t have to go home. You can stay here with me.”

“You know I love spending time with her. Plus, I want to see Paul and Logan.” Her brothers.

“They can come and visit us and I’ll be the go-between.”

“You’re the best,” she quips.

“I know.” I smirk at her eye-roll. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, Den.”

“Can I switch majors then?”

“If you want.”

“Shame my dad wouldn’t agree.” She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “Something bizarre is going on between them. She never pressures me, even if my grades are terrible, but…. I wonder if Dad put her up to this.”

“Why would he?”

“I don’t know. It’s no secret she wanted me to try, but crying about me refusing? It’s like something else is going on and they’re not saying.” D bites her lip. “I need to tell you something.”